


Take Me Away with You

by unfolded73



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, F/M, Romance, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: My take on the story of Milah and Killian's early days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the tags. This arose out of a desire to write about Milah's state of mind when she left Rumple and Bae, so she's in a very dark place. I’m also picturing Killian as the young man he would have been at this point and not quite the way Colin looked in flashbacks.

“Take me away with you.” All it took were five simple words to change her life forever. Five words she spoke on impulse with no foresight, no planning. Five words that tilted the whole world on its axis, although no one knew that then. Least of all her.

~*~

Sometimes Milah tried to tell herself that she had loved Rumpelstiltskin once: that her love had died on the vine because of the shame he brought down on them and the financial hardship that followed. But in her more honest moments, even before Killian Jones awoke her frozen heart, she knew that wasn’t true. The fact was, she had probably never loved him. Liked him, yes. Thought he’d be a decent father, yes. Thought he’d provide an exit from the home where her father drank too much and hit her, well, that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? A woman desperate for escape can’t always be choosy about the mechanism of that escape. Rumpelstiltskin was her escape.

She’d never been someone who could keep her feelings from being written clearly across her face. She could barely keep them from spilling out of her mouth most of the time. Alone in their tiny hut, Rumpelstiltskin out trying to sell his wool or begging for scraps to keep them fed, she would put the baby down for a nap and then collapse on her own bed, her teeth clenched tight as if to try to trap in the words. But it wasn’t invective against her husband that she muttered into her pillow, tears leaking from her eyes.

“I hate myself,” she’d whisper in those moments, wishing she could wail it at the top of her lungs. Imagining finding a high cliff and hurling herself from the edge of it. “I hate myself.”

Then Rumple would come home with a meager few coins or a loaf of stale bread, and the self-loathing monster she carried would wheel around and lash out in his direction, perhaps just for a change of pace. “How can we go on living like this?” she’d ask. “How can you be so useless?” 

Milah’s days dragged on as her baby grew into a boy, her box of paints and charcoals shoved in a corner for longer and longer stretches. Most of the time she felt like she was wading through treacle, constantly tired, returning to bed at even the slightest hint of illness. She had traced the wood grain of the wall next to her bed so many times with her fingernail that the softer wood was eroding. It left a slight indentation, giving the natural grain a three-dimensional structure. The artist in her appreciated it, even if it was evidence of her boredom and discontent. 

Bae had the limitless energy of the young, and only his childlike innocence and wonder were capable of raising her from her mental stupor during that time. She would walk down to the pond with Baelfire’s small hand clutching her own and sit on the bank, watching as he stood in the shallows and tried to catch darting minnows in his fists. Those were the good days, when warm sunshine burned away the cobwebs from her brain, and she could recognize that she’d done at least one good thing in her life, bringing this child into the world. On days like those, she thought she might even want another baby, if only they could manage to scrape enough money together that another mouth to feed wouldn’t be too burdensome.

That was before Rumple sold away their potential second child, which was the beginning of the end. That was before she met Killian.

Even in the midst of her desperate worry about Baelfire’s illness, she felt a pull toward that charming man in black and red who defended her honor so easily, who gracefully took a seat next to her as he offered her a drink. He smelled of leather and rum, the warm tavern causing sweat to gather in the depression at the base of his throat. She didn’t think she’d seen anyone in her entire life, man or woman, who was as… beautiful as he was, for lack of a better word, and she found it genuinely startling. Perhaps she couldn’t forget her worries (and shouldn’t, not when her son’s life hung in the balance), but she was momentarily distracted from them by this man. This man who kissed the back of her hand for just a moment too long but politely withdrew when she told him she was married. When she closed her eyes that night, it was his blue eyes she saw as she drifted off to sleep.

It was weeks before saw him a second time. 

Milah’s ears would perk up whenever there was a whisper in the market about pirates in port, but the men she saw in town were grizzled and dirty, missing teeth and limbs, a far cry from the handsome Captain Jones. Then the day came when she was carrying a load of washing -- menial work for a meager few pennies, but at least it would put some food on the table -- and she spotted him across the street. She dreaded that he would turn and look her way and see her laboring under her heavy burden of laundry: sweaty, disheveled, her hair a mess. Not that he should want to look upon her under the best of circumstances; she was too old and too plain for a man like that. Milah put her head down and walked faster. She resolved to stop looking for him and stop thinking about him.

Her resolve lasted about five hours.

Knowing he was probably still in port, that night she put on her nicest blouse and tamed her hair and walked down to the tavern, if for no other reason than to see his face again. There he was, laughing and drinking with his crew, but he continually scanned the room and he noticed her within a few minutes of her arrival. Clapping a crew member on the back, he approached with a wide smile. Milah’s heart galloped.

“I was hoping I’d see you again,” he said, standing just a bit closer to her than was proper, swaying from side to side on his booted feet.

“I didn’t think you’d remember.”

He seemed genuinely surprised at that, and as the flirtatious smirk fell away she was struck by how young he was. Younger than her, to be sure.

“Of course I remember, how could I not?”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She felt so plain next to him, the embroidery on his vest finer than anything she had ever owned, the dark lines under his eyes dramatic and sexy. Why did he notice her at all?

He swayed closer still. “I’ve thought of you often during my lonely nights at sea.” An eyebrow waggle completed the innuendo, and she found herself laughing. Milah couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. 

Milah shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

~*~

They met a few more times in the tavern after that, but there was nothing but a harmless flirtation between them at first. He taught her to cheat at dice and cards and to drink rum, always with a smile on his lips that made her think about what kissing him would feel like. When she was in the tavern with him, she felt like a different person. She felt like someone who was adept at holding the attention of a man. She almost felt happy.

But Killian’s visits to their port were separated by absences of days or weeks, and during those times the monster on her shoulder became bolder. Telling her how worthless she was every time she couldn’t muster the energy to play with Bae. Telling her that her drawings were a waste of time and energy and money, canvases an extravagance that she didn’t deserve. Converting her self-loathing into a fuel to feed the flames of her antipathy toward her husband, and then berating her when their arguments made Bae cry or shout at them to stop. 

Liquor made the monster quiet down, she had learned. And it wasn’t like she had to spend any of her own meager coin in the tavern, not when a certain pirate was in port. A few drinks and she could feel the monster coiled around her shoulders drift off to sleep. The release was a kind of euphoria. She would gamble with the boys -- Killian always spotted her a stake and covered her debts if she lost, but let her keep her winnings if she didn’t -- until the table began to swim in her vision and she leaned too heavily against the Killian’s shoulder, unable to hold her head up any longer. Her memories of him seeing her home (not all the way to her door, of course, but close enough that he could ensure she got inside safely) were jagged and fractured with drunkenness, but she knew he never took any liberties, even when she stumbled and let her hand drag across the back of his leather pants.

She would pay for her behavior the next day, often too sick to get out of bed. Rumple would take Bae with him into town, perhaps to give her some peace but more likely so he wouldn’t see his mother retching into a bucket. And of course her monster would awaken, refreshed from its sleep, and tear into her for being a drunk and a layabout. The old images of jumping from a cliff would return, and Milah would lie still in her sweat-soaked bed, too empty to even weep.

~*~

“May I walk you home, Milah?” Killian’s elbow pointed in her direction. The tavern was closing, but somehow she was less inebriated than usual. Killian himself had filled up her senses, distracted her so completely with his charm and his flirting that for once she forgot to drink herself into senselessness.

“You can walk me anywhere else but home.”

He arched an eyebrow at her as if he was trying to parse her meaning. 

“Take me to see your ship. I’ve never even seen your ship,” she said, desperate not to return to the dirty hovel where she lived. Not really thinking about the implications of her request.

He did as she asked, but she could sense the tension rolling off of him as they walked through the night to the harbor. The first thing she spotted were the masts with their furled sails against the backdrop of the night sky, a full moon impossibly bright behind them. 

As they walked up the gangplank, she could make out brightly colored paint along the gunwale and on the hull, yellow and red and blue. “It’s beautiful,” Milah remarked.

“Aye, that she is.”

“Sorry, ‘she’s’ beautiful.”

He smiled at her, leading her up some stairs to the large wheel which she presumed he used to steer. She could imagine him out on the open ocean, his dark hair tousled by the wind as he gave orders to his crew and bore down on another vessel. She dragged her fingers over the wooden knobs of the wheel, picturing his long fingers gripping them. “Is it difficult, sailing?”

Killian shrugged. “There’s a lot to learn, I suppose. How to deploy each sail to get the most out of the prevailing winds, navigating using the stars, reading the weather… but I grew up on ships.”

He had never spoken to her of his childhood before, and she was suddenly desperate to learn more about his beginnings. “Was your father a… a pirate?”

“My father was too much of a coward to be a pirate,” he muttered, turning and lifting a hatch. “Come below, darling, and let’s have a nightcap.” He descended the steep steps before her, turning and reaching a hand up to assist her. Milah paused. She knew what nightcap was often code for. Milah might be a lot of things -- a drunk and a gambler and a poor excuse for a wife and mother -- but she wasn’t an adulterer. She could go now, and perhaps Killian would be disappointed, but she didn’t think he would hold it against her. He wasn’t that kind of man. She could go home where she belonged, with her husband and her son.

Taking his hand, she allowed Killian to help her down the stairs.

The chamber was dark but he quickly lit a lantern, revealing a fairly spacious room. There were cabinets filled with books and trinkets, a large table, and a bunk in the corner. The white walls reflected the lamp light in shades of yellow, giving the space a homey feel.

“This is nice. Larger than I imagined,” she said as he pulled a decanter of wine from a shelf.

“Well, I _am_ the captain.”

Milah flinched. He _was_ the captain, and a man like him could have his pick of women in every port. Likely did have his pick of women in every port. She flushed with embarrassment at her notion that he wanted to bed her. Perhaps he merely wanted to drink with her, his matronly friend whom he felt sorry for because she was destitute and lonely. Perhaps he was at a loss for what to do with her now that she was in his chamber, and was trying to figure out how to get rid of her without hurting her feelings.

Killian handed her a cup of wine and clinked his own cup against it. She sipped from the cup, feeling awkward, regretting that she’d come here. Regretting that she’d ever met Killian Jones. Killian was the only thing in her life that made her feel anything, but she wasn’t sure if her current discomfort was worth it.

“I’d best be getting home,” she said, and she watched Killian’s face fall.

“To your husband,” he said flatly.

“Yes.”

He walked over to the windows, looking out into the night. “Do you love him?”

“Does it matter?”

Killian turned and met her gaze. “Aye, it matters a great deal to me, love.”

She tried to ignore her pounding heart. “Why?”

Approaching her slowly, his lips quirked up in a half-smile. “Do you not wonder why I can’t seem to stop myself from returning to this port, Milah?”

She didn’t know how to answer, and she swallowed on a suddenly dry mouth.

He put his large hand on her arm. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop dreaming about you.” His eyelashes fluttered as he dropped his eyes to the floor. “If there’s no chance for me, then please just put me out of my misery now, love.”

She wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss. At first it was just an imperceptible lean toward him, a sway into close orbit, and then suddenly his mouth was on hers. It was a tiny thing, the touch of one human’s flesh to another’s, and it was everything, an explosion of sensation and emotion the likes of which she had never experienced.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered against her lips, and she was so fuzzy with desire that she couldn’t quite process what he was saying. Without even realizing how it happened she found herself seated on the edge of his bunk, her skirts bunched up as he stood between her legs, his mouth everywhere on her neck as his hands cupped her breasts. 

Even as they undressed frantically between heated kisses, she was certain this couldn’t really be happening. It felt like a daydream. Surely this worldly young man couldn’t want her this way. And if he somehow had convinced himself that he did, the sight of her body with its blemishes and stretch marks would put him off.

Milah kept thinking this even as his naked body covered hers, his desire evident in the thrust of his cock against her. Only when he was inside her did it click in her head with sudden clarity. She was fucking another man.

He was beautiful above her, dark hair on sun-kissed skin, his toned muscles flexing and voice breaking on each push into her. It felt good, a gentle, diffuse pleasure, the not-quite-enough pleasure that sex had always been for her. She clung to his shoulders and watched as Killian lost himself in his body’s demands.

“Gods… Milah,” he gasped.

“Don’t come inside me,” she said. “You can’t--”

“Aye,” he grunted, seeming to understand. She brought one hand up above her head and braced herself on the wall as his hips pistoned into her again and again until the last possible moment when he pulled out quickly. Two pumps of his fist and he groaned, his seed landing harmlessly on her stomach. 

The gentle kisses he pressed to her shoulder after he’d cleaned them up and settled at her side should have been comforting, but they just made her feel worse. She didn’t deserve such tenderness, not after breaking her marriage vows so completely. 

“I need to go home,” she whispered.

“Not yet,” Killian said, his voice husky, his hand trailing over her skin and making her shiver. “Don’t go just yet.”

The simple affection made tears well behind her eyes, something that in and of itself was remarkable; she’d started to think herself incapable of the genuine emotion that could bring about tears.

Shaking her head, Milah rose from the bed and began to quickly pull her clothes back on. “I’m sorry.”

~*~

By the time Milah returned to town the next day, the masts of the _Jolly Roger_ were gone from the harbor. As she moved through the streets, she felt as if everyone’s eyes were on her, that they all must be whispering that she’d become a pirate’s whore. Never mind that the fact that she drank and gambled with pirates was enough to make people whisper -- now that she was guilty of the crime she had likely been accused of some time ago, now she felt the full weight of their stares. A part of her wanted to turn and scream at anyone within earshot that yes, she’d fucked the pirate captain. And that being his whore was preferable to the life she’d been consigned to.

It was weeks before Killian returned, empty, grey weeks through which she sleep-walked. Milah would lie awake at night, closing her eyes only to find her thoughts plagued with what his mouth had tasted like, what the drag of his skin had felt like against hers. She started to believe that once he’d bedded her, Killian didn’t plan to return. Perhaps he only cared for her as much as a she had been a conquest, a wife and mother seduced away from her home and into his bed. Now he had no further use of her. 

She became so convinced of this that when she heard whispers that his ship had returned, Milah didn’t bother to go to the tavern. The next morning, however, his cabin boy approached her on the street as she made her way to the market. 

“Captain wants you to come to his cabin, missus.”

Milah’s heartbeat sped up, but at the same time she felt a flare of anger for being summoned as if she had nothing better to do than wait upon Captain Jones.

“I have errands to tend to,” she responded.

“Then come as soon as you are able, if it please you.”

She waited until dusk, late enough that she wouldn’t be seen boarding a pirate ship in broad daylight, but early enough that he wouldn’t be out carousing yet. The pirate standing watch at the gangplank allowed her to board with a nod and a relieved smile. Another escorted her below.

Killian swept her into his arms immediately. “Milah, my love, I missed you.”

She held herself tense, uncertain how to feel. “You did?”

“Aye.” He pulled away a fraction but continued to hold her. “We had to sail many leagues to find a worthy target this time. Finally I was able to run down a royal galleon. It took us days to follow it into the straits so that we could overtake them without being outmaneuvered. I wanted to return right away, but the winds were against us.” Shooting her a sheepish smile, he added, “Still, at least my ship’s coffers are full now. I’ve been returning to this port so often lately, I knew I had to find a rich prize on this outing or risk a mutiny.”

“Why have you? Been returning to this port so often lately?”

He reached up and stroked her cheek. “I think you know the answer to that, love.” Then his eyes widened. “Ah, I just remembered!” He let go of her and turned back to his shelves, unlocking a safe with a key he’d pulled from his pocket. He removed a small bundle with some reverence, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a pair of large, turquoise earrings. He held them out to her. “A gift for you.”

Milah gaped at them. “Those are worth more than everything else I own put together.”

“All the more reason I want you to have them. Wear them, or sell them if the money would do you more good than the jewelry.”

“Killian, I can’t accept a gift like this from you.”

“Of course you can.” He took her hand and turned it palm up, putting the earrings in her hand. “Take them. I want you to.”

She met his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I thought you deserved something nice.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Because I saw them and thought of you. Because I’m very fond of you, Milah.”

Closing her fist, she tucked the earrings into the pocket of her skirt. “Thank you.”

He took her in his arms again. “Can you stay a while?” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

The sex was much like before, and though she wanted it, wanted _him_ , she found it no more satisfying than the first time. Milah knew there were women who claimed to enjoy sex as much as men, and she’d always thought that Rumple was the reason that she got more enjoyment from her own hand than she ever did from their coupling. Now she had to face the fact that _she_ was the problem, that this was one more way that she was deficient. Either that or her pirate lover was no more adept than her husband.

Killian trailed a hand over her abdomen and Milah twitched, still keyed up and sensitive. He seemed oblivious to the way her body was still aching for release. “Can you stay the night this time?” he asked.

Milah imagined Bae waking up for a cup of water in the wee hours of the morning and finding her gone. She shook her head. “I can’t. My son…”

Giving her a sad smile, Killian murmured, “You’re a good mother.”

Pulling away, Milah shot him a look of disbelief. “Is that a joke? I’m a terrible mother. You can tell on account of the fact that I’m having an affair with a pirate.”

A quick, inappropriate grin flashed across his face before he could suppress it. “So that makes you a bad wife, perhaps, but I can tell you love your son.”

“Love isn’t enough.” She chuckled darkly. “My son would be better off if I were dead and gone, anyway.”

Now it was Killian’s turn to pull away. “Why would you say that?”

“Because, Killian! I’m worthless! I drink too much and I don’t--” She sat up and began to pull her clothes back on with hurried, jerky motions. “I don’t have the energy to do the most basic things for my family. And at least if I were gone, my son wouldn’t have to see Rumple and me fighting all the time. He’d be happier in the long run.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Milah.”

She sighed heavily. “I assure you, it is.”

~*~

Milah followed Rumple and Bae back home from the tavern like a recalcitrant child. It had been a low blow by her husband, bringing Bae to the tavern to guilt her into coming home. She squeezed her eyes shut as a flood of shame coursed through her, stumbling slightly in the doorway of their pitiful, one-room hut. While Rumple put the boy to bed in his cot behind a simple partition, Milah flopped down on her bed. Misery and drink weighed her down like twin stones tied to her ankles. The room was too hot, the fire stoked too high, and sweat broke out on her face as she lay there, staring at the ceiling. 

Milah reached up and touched the turquoise earrings that dangled from her earlobes. Any other husband would have asked her where she got them. Any other husband would have demanded to know what she’d done in exchange for such a gift. Any other husband, faced with evidence of a wife’s infidelity, would have struck her, but Rumple would never do that, even if it was what she deserved. That’s what her father had often told her.

When Rumple emerged from putting Bae to bed he brought up the ogre war again, asking in a soft voice if she truly wished he’d died. She felt a sudden surge of pity and something almost like affection for him. It wasn’t him that should have died, this sad, cowardly man who was so kind and patient with their son. She was the one who didn’t deserve to live in this world. She begged, not for the first time, for them to leave the village and start over. Perhaps the monster who plagued her wouldn’t follow her to a new place. She could remake herself into a better person, she thought desperately. Other people would respect them, and she could become the wife and mother she’d once imagined she could be. More importantly, the temptation of a certain pirate’s bed would be removed from her life.

Rumple refused her, as he had many times before, and said they could be a family here, in their home.

“At least try. If not for me… then for Bae,” he said.

As always, Rumple seemed to find the idea of venturing outside their village so terrifying that he’d rather they spend the rest of their lives as pariahs, as outcasts, barely able to scrape together enough coin to survive. Milah closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

When Rumple had finally fallen asleep at her side, his soft snores filling her ears, Milah stole out of bed. She crept over to Baelfire’s cot, watching his small chest rise and fall in slumber, his innocent face relaxed. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“I’m sorry, Bae. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the mother you need.”

By the time she got down to the docks, the moon had set but dawn had yet to hint at its arrival, and the water in the harbor looked black as pitch. Milah took another swig from the bottle of cheap corn mash liquor she’d swiped on her way from a man passed out in an alley, continuing to stare down into the depths. She wondered how far it was to the bottom. She wondered if it would be better to step off the dock or to jump. She wondered if she could drink enough to dampen any instinct toward self preservation that might kick in once she was actually drowning. 

She wondered if her body would float to the surface after, to be dragged out by the townsfolk and gossiped over.

“Milah?”

Swinging around at the sound of her name, she stumbled, her foot slipping on the wet boards.

“Whoa, love,” Killian said, darting forward and grabbing her arm. He pulled away from the edge of the water. “Take care before you fall in.”

“That was the idea,” she mumbled, jerking out of his grasp.

“What was the idea?”

She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she’d been contemplating. Instead what she said was, “Take me away with you.”

“What?”

Milah clicked her teeth together, shocked at her own utterance. Any doubts she had about Killian’s feelings for her were subsumed by her desperation in the moment. “I said… I said, take me away with you. On your ship.”

“What about your son? Your husband?”

She laughed bitterly. “Do you really care about my husband?”

“Not particularly, but I thought you did.”

“I told you, they’re better off without me.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. 

“Your son will miss you terribly, love.”

“Killian, if you don’t want me, just--”

“Of course I want you,” he said, frustration evident in the lines of his brow. “I’ve hardly wanted anything else since we first met. But love…” Conflicting emotions performed an impromptu battle across his face. “I lost my mother when I was very young. It was the first loss of many in my life, but in many ways it cuts the deepest. I don’t want to be responsible for another boy being left with a failure for a father, as much as a part of me is desperate to steal you away and have you all to myself.”

“My husband has a lot of flaws, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that he loves our son. He’ll look after him. They’ll look after each other.” She felt tears well up and fall, and she swiped angrily at her cheeks. “If I stay, I’ll drag Bae down into the depths with me. My son will be forced to watch me wither away and die. How is that better?”

He studied her face for a moment and then nodded. “Come on, then. We’ll cast off tomorrow.”

Milah looked down at the black water once more. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the bottle of cheap liquor into the harbor, watching as it sank out of view.


	2. Chapter 2

When Rumple came looking for her on Killian’s ship early the next morning, Milah was still asleep. Once they had left port Killian told her of his brief visit. “He wouldn’t fight for you,” Killian said. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

She felt a pang of regret at the fact that Killian had let Rumple believe that he’d stolen her away rather than telling her husband that the decision to leave had been her own, even if it had been in a moment when she’d been contemplating ending her life. She wondered what Rumple would tell Bae. 

When she made her way up on deck, the sails were full, fluttering in the wind as the ship cut through the water. Turning and looking behind them, she couldn’t even see the shoreline of her village, and she continued to spin in a circle, taking in the view from every direction. Milah never could have imagined the desolation of the ocean’s surface, the horizon visible every way she looked. It made her mind rebel at what her eyes were telling her.

“How do you know where we are?” she asked Killian, squinting at the reflection of the sun off the water.

“I check our position when the stars are visible. I know our speed and our heading and plot it on a map. Thus, I know where we are.”

She shuddered with a pang of homesickness. This was the farthest she’d ever been from the place of her birth. 

“This is your home now,” Killian murmured, sidling closer and putting an arm around her waist.

She glanced at him, surprised. “Reading my mind now, are you?”

He grinned endearingly and shrugged. 

Pulling out of his embrace, Milah folded her arms across her chest. “Listen, Killian, I intend to pull my weight on this ship. Tell me what needs doing and I’ll learn to do it. I’m not just here to be your…”

Killian’s expression sobered. “All right, agreed, but I’ll not have you slaving away in the galley or doing the crew’s laundry. It must be something befitting the lady of this ship.”

“Is that what I am?”

He made a poor attempt at a wink. “Aye, that’s what you are.”

True to his word, only another couple of days passed before Killian had her sitting with his first mate, learning about the way they kept the ship supplied and how the crew’s rations were paid and logged. The first mate, a grizzled old pirate named Cooper, admitted that he’d seen better days and that he hadn’t had much of a head for numbers in the best of them, and he seemed more than happy to hand over some of his duties to her. It made Milah feel valuable, and that the freedom she’d been longing for was beginning to truly feel earned.

Late that night, still riding high from that feeling and a little tipsy from her share of the rum, she found the courage to stand up for herself in another way.

Killian was climbing on top of her in bed, and she extended her hand toward his chest, holding him at bay. “I need more than this, Killian.”

He blinked at her in confusion. “More than what?”

She smiled, not wanting to bruise his ego, and swallowed down her own nervousness about discussing such an intimate topic. “Perhaps other women you’ve been with haven’t needed… I’m not implying you’re doing anything wrong, only that I need…”

Killian’s face fell. “I don’t please you.”

“No, you do, very much!” She sat up, letting her fingers trail over his chest. “You’re…” She chuckled nervously. “You’re the most pleasing man to look upon that I’ve ever encountered in my life, and I still can’t quite figure out what you see in _me_ \--”

“One of these days I’ll convince you of how beautiful you are, Milah--”

“But that aside, if we’re going to share a bed together on this ship for… for a while, I was…” She took a deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes. She couldn’t make herself state it baldly. “I need more,” she said again.

“Anything,” he answered quickly. “Anything you need from me, I’ll give to you, I swear.”

His youthful earnestness relaxed her a bit. “Come here,” she said, urging him to lie down at her side, and he followed her lead. Blushing, she pulled his hand over between her legs. “Can I show you the way I like to be touched?”

Killian nuzzled against her neck. “Of course, darling. I would love that.”

She guided his hand to her clit, using her fingers on top of his to instruct him how to knead and rub her flesh the way she herself did when she was alone, bending and pressing this way and that until he’d copied her rhythm. The way he’d touched her before had been pleasant enough, but his focus had been on putting his fingers inside her. Killian was a quick study though, and sensation sparked more and more intensely as he worked. Milah gasped and writhed against the bedding, all the while aware that Killian was scrutinizing her.

“That’s it, love, do you like that?” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. 

Milah shuddered. “Yes.”

It was good, _so good_ , but after a few minutes she felt herself plateau and she squirmed in frustration. She was very close, closer than she’d ever been with Killian, but either her mind or her body or both wouldn’t cooperate.

“I know what you need,” Killian said, and he shifted down the bed, his hand still moving against her. Milah lifted her head in confusion just in time to see him replace his hand with his mouth, and then he swiped at her with the flat of his tongue. The soft, wet pressure was unlike anything she’d ever felt, and she cried out.

“Bloody buggering fuck, Killian,” she panted. He chuckled, positioning himself as if he was going to stay down there for a while. It made her suddenly very self-conscious about her body, and her hand stole down to cover herself.

Killian bent down between the legs, his nose brushing against her knuckles. “Let me pleasure you, love.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I’ve been selfish. I want to do better for you.”

Milah’s breath caught. “All right… but you don’t have to do _this_.”

Killian continued to regard her over the expanse of her belly and breasts. “I won’t if you don’t like it, but--” He smirked. “I think you’ll like it.”

Cautiously, she moved her hand out of the way. 

The next time he licked her, he actually moaned in appreciation. Milah threw her head back, overwhelmed with the way his attention made her feel. 

“You’re delicious,” he said against the crease where her leg met her pelvis.

“Don’t be daft.”

“You taste like sex, love, what could be more delicious than that?”

There wasn’t any talking after that, and Milah’s self-consciousness bled away as Killian worked her up. When he focused quicker, more intense flicks of his tongue against her clit, Milah felt like a fire had been kindled inside of her, burning hotter and hotter until it exploded, radiating out through her limbs. She clenched her teeth together, trying not to moan too loudly. Just because the rest of the crew knew she shared a bed with the captain, that didn’t mean she wanted them to know every sordid detail about their sex life.

Killian continued to lick at her until she was flinched with oversensitivity, weakly pushing him away. “Stop, stop.”

He sat up on his heels, wiping his mouth off on his arm. “Was that good?” The expression on his face told her that he wasn’t fishing for compliments; he genuinely wanted to know.

“It was amazing.” She reached for his hand, pulling until he stretched out on top of her, his hips cradled between her thighs. “You’re amazing.”

Killian shifted his pelvis and thrust deeply inside her in one stroke. “No, you are, Milah.”

~*~

“Now you look the part,” Killian said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “A true pirate.”

Milah studied herself as best she could in the small mirror, then looked down at the red blouse she wore, and the way the corset under it made her breasts look. Pretty fantastic, she had to admit.

“I’m hardly a pirate, Killian.” She smoothed down her flowing skirts. “But thank you,” she said, then added with a sigh, “I’ve never been able to afford clothes like this.”

“It’s nothing more than what you deserve, darling.”

“Captain!” came a call from up on deck. Killian levered himself out of his chair and kissed her cheek. “Let me go see what Cooper needs; back in a tick.”

After a minute, Milah felt the ship change direction, and for the first time she was able to compensate by shifting her weight without stumbling. Giving herself a little metaphorical pat on the back, she looked out the windows in their cabin, but the view from the stern of the ship only showed the churning wake that trailed behind them.

It seemed like they were increasing speed as well. Curiosity getting the better of her, Milah climbed the stairs and opened the hatch to see what was going on. 

Killian was at the wheel, shouting orders to his crew. The men below hauled on ropes, adjusting the sails in a choreographed dance that still mostly mystified her. 

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He gestured toward the prow. “Spice traders have found themselves in the wrong part of the sea at the wrong time. We’re going to make them regret the error.” He had a flinty gleam in his eye as they bore down on the smaller vessel.

Milah watched, apprehensive, as the _Jolly_ narrowed the distance with the other ship. This would be the first time they’d engaged in actual piracy since she’d been aboard, and she had no idea what to expect. It struck her how incredibly rash her decision to run away aboard a pirate ship might have been.

“What are you going to do to them?” Her voice trembled.

Killian glanced at her, then summoned his first mate and handed him the wheel before pulling Milah aside. “See the flag they fly?” he said, pointing. She looked, but could only make out a smudge of blue in the distance. “That trading company is notorious. Opium, slaves… no merchandise is off limits if they can profit from it.” He grinned. “They’re one of my favorite targets.”

He didn’t say ‘only’ targets, she noticed.

“Will you kill them?”

“If I have to to protect you and my crew, aye. But if they surrender, I won’t hurt them. I’ll just unburden them of whatever they have in their hold.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Stay below until we’ve secured the vessel.”

Milah nodded, wondering as she returned to their quarters if she should add sword-fighting lessons to her daily routine. 

Whatever Killian had meant by securing the vessel, it didn’t take long. After several minutes of nail-biting while she listened to shouts from above, a crew member named Johnson opened the hatch and shouted down to her. “Cap’n says it’s safe for you to move about freely, m’lady.”

They called her that: my lady. The irony that she had to run away from her husband and commit adultery with another man to be afforded such an honor wasn’t lost on Milah. She thanked him and mounted the stairs.

When she was up on deck, Johnson continued. “It were easy pickings, this ship, and it’s a rich prize.” He gestured toward the planks connecting the two ships. “You can go over and see for yourself. Cap’n’s over there now.”

Milah eyed the planks, which looked terribly narrow when she thought about crossing high above the water. Still, her new mantra since she’d joined the crew of the _Jolly Roger_ was _‘I can do this,’_ so she steeled herself for traversing one of them. Perhaps she could help Killian inventory the loot and divvy up each crewman’s share, thereby showing herself to be useful when they raided other vessels. She was so focused on not falling into the ocean and on what she might do to help the crew that she hardly noticed the blood on the deck of the other ship. It was only when she almost tripped over the body lying face up on the boards that she stopped, a scream caught in her throat. 

The unknown crewman from the trading ship was young, probably no more than twenty. His eyes stared unseeing at the sky, his blood continuing to seep out at her feet.

Milah wondered if he had a mother somewhere, worrying if her son was safe.

~*~

“You all right, love?” Killian asked. His cheeks were red from the wind above deck, or perhaps from the rum he’d been drinking. She could hear the men celebrating as loudly as ever as the night wore on.

Milah took a swig of her own rum. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just thought you might join us on deck for some revels, that’s all. Nicholson is asking after you; I think he might have a crush.”

“Killian, when you decided to become a pirate, why did you do that?”

His brow furrowed. “I told you, it was because of Liam.”

“Yes, because of Liam. Because you didn’t want to serve a king who could throw lives away the way Liam’s life was thrown away. Because you wanted to be free. That’s what you told me.”

She could tell he was starting to pick up on her mood. Folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the stairs, Killian nodded. “Aye, what’s your point?”

Milah took another drink of rum. “So where does killing merchants fit into that worldview?”

“I told you, the trading company they work for--”

“Yes, you told me, but that wasn’t a ship of slave traders, Killian. Those were just… just middle men transporting cinnamon. That dead boy--”

“He attacked me with a sword, Milah; forgive me if I defended myself.” His eyes flashed with anger. “And those men were just as much a part of the system that killed my brother as anyone. What do you think kings and queens fight their petty wars over? Trade routes and profits.”

She sighed; this wasn’t an argument she wanted to have. “Today was the first time I’d ever seen a body run through with a sword.” Taking another drink, she added. “First time but not the last, I suppose.”

Crouching down next to her chair, Killian’s face softened. “I’m sorry, love. I should have shielded you from that.”

“There’s no point in shielding me from it -- it’s your life. And I suppose now it’s mine.” She shook her head and emptied her cup, longing for the rum to numb her pain. “I’m just missing Bae today, that’s all, and it’s making me churlish.”

Killian reached out and stroked her hair. “We could go back for him. Take him with us.”

Milah blinked, shocked at this offer, at the fact that Killian was so willing to make it. It showed a level of commitment to her that she hadn’t until that moment realized he felt. “We can’t bring a little boy on board a pirate ship. It’s too dangerous.”

“Perhaps when he’s older, then,” Killian countered. “We could offer him the chance to join us in this adventure when he’s a lad of, say, twelve.”

Again, the easy way that Killian seemed to imagine the two of them still together years from now knocked her flat. “As if he’ll ever forgive me for leaving him,” she scoffed.

“He will if he understands your reasons. We can make him understand, love.”

“Okay,” she agreed distantly, swayed in the moment by Killian’s earnest arguments. “Perhaps when he’s older.”

That night, she dreamed of the dead merchant lying in a pool of his own blood, but in her dream the merchant had Baelfire’s face.

~*~

Milah stood nervously, awaiting her turn to speak to the old woman in the market. She knew Killian was in one of the town’s shops at present, probably paying too much for dried beef and hard tack and limes, but today he’d have to manage without her, as he clearly had for a long time before she’d come on board.

Finally her turn came and she approached the woman. A push-cart containing of glass bottles full of the woman’s wares stood between them.

Hiding her nervous hand-wringing in the folds of her skirt, she said, “I need a potion to prevent me from getting with child. Word is you have something like that.”

“Aye, I have such a potion, but it will cost you,” she said, eyeing Milah with skepticism. “Few can afford it. Does your husband know you’re here?”

Milah almost laughed. Her husband hadn’t known where she was for almost three months. She hefted her coin purse. “I can pay,” she said, electing not answer any questions about her marriage. 

She had been as cautious with Killian as she could be, paying attention to her cycle and insisting that he pull out during the times when she was more likely to get pregnant, but Milah had known plenty of women who had grown heavy with child doing exactly the same. She couldn’t risk it any longer. Not only was a pirate ship the worst place to raise a baby that she could possibly imagine, but she feared that Rumple’s promise to sell their second child to the shaman who saved Bae’s life might apply to her regardless of who fathered the babe. And who knew what sort of magic that shaman was capable of. When she’d finally shared that fear with Killian, he’d set sail for the port city of Boralus, where the local apothecary was known to be a powerful witch.

“Fair enough,” the witch said, crouching down and rummaging for a few seconds beneath her cart before emerging with a bottle. Milah handed over her gold and listened to the witch’s instructions. Tucking her purchase safely away in a satchel, she heaved a sigh of relief and turned back toward the town square to meet Killian.

Before she reached the meeting place, the sight of a set of charcoals and paint brushes in the window of a shop brought her up short. Looking down at her coin purse once more, Milah grinned and went inside.

~*~

She sat at the table in their quarters with her paper and charcoals arrayed before her, trying not to giggle. “This is ridiculous, Killian, I can’t draw you like this.”

Killian stretched his arms above his head before repositioning himself on the bed. “Why not? Don’t you like looking at me naked?”

Milah rolled her eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments. I just mean I’ve never drawn a man’s…” She gestured toward him, her cheeks heating up.

He trailed his hand down his chest and took the part of his anatomy she was referring to in hand. “What, this?”

Picking up her charcoal, she began drawing lines to approximate the way his broad chest tapered down to his waist and hips. “Don’t touch it; I’m definitely not going to draw you sporting an erection.”

Killian laughed and released his cock, returning his hand to his thigh. “Is that better?”

“Yes, now be still for half a minute, please. You fidget more than a little boy.”

“Oy, way to damage a man’s ego, calling him a little boy when he’s naked and vulnerable.”

Milah continued to sketch, looking up at him intermittently. “I don’t believe you’ve ever been vulnerable, naked or no.”

“You didn’t know me when I was an indentured servant,” he said lightly, but she could tell there was darkness underneath his words, and she immediately regretted the joke.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she said softly. She knew the bare outlines of Killian’s backstory, but she’d never thought much about how a childhood spent in servitude might inform the person he was today. It was probably no small part of the reason he’d become a pirate. So that no one would ever control him again.

She was working to get the fall of his dark hair across his forehead just right when he beckoned to her. “Take a break and come join me, Milah.”

She huffed, standing and stretching out her aching back. “Was modeling for me just an excuse to try to get me into bed in the middle of the day?”

He grinned, taking his cock in hand once more. “Perhaps. Is it working?”

Standing up to rinse the charcoal from her fingers in their washbasin, she hid a smile of her own. “Perhaps.”

Killian padded over behind her, wrapping one arm around her while he moved her hair aside with his other hand to kiss her neck. “The longer we’re together, the more I want you,” he whispered. “Why is that?”

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the sensation of his lips on her. “I don’t know.”

He undressed her reverently, dropping to his knees at one point to press kisses to her breasts and abdomen. The adoration Milah saw in his eyes when he looked up at her had become familiar, and that itself was remarkable. No one before Killian had ever looked at her that way. She felt a rush of desire for him as she threaded her fingers through his hair. 

He made love to her slowly, bringing her close to the edge with his fingers before sliding his cock inside her. He stayed up on his knees, looking down at her with that same adoring, rapturous expression while his fingers worked against her clit in time with his thrusts. Climaxing was easier for her now -- it was like so many other luxuries that being with Killian had made commonplace in her life. She cried out as she came, uncaring who might hear her. Killian stretched out over her, changing the angle so that they were chest to chest, thrusting harder and deeper until he followed her over the edge with a groan. 

He held her close after, their sweat-slicked skin pressed together. “Gods, I love fucking you,” he said, nuzzling against her cheek.

Arching an eyebrow, she commented, “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Killian ignored her gentle gibe. “I should go up and check on our heading, but I can pose again for you later if you want.” 

She snorted. “It’s not always going to lead to sex, Killian.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said with a shrug and a wink. “But if you don’t find me to be an acceptable model, would you consider drawing a self-portrait? For me?”

Milah wrinkled her nose. “If you want a picture of a woman, I’m sure I could sketch the next buxom barmaid we come across in our travels.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I don’t want a picture of a barmaid. I want a picture of my love.”

~*~

It was a several weeks before she made an attempt at the self-portrait, and when she did every drawing ended up crumpled into a ball and thrown into the corner. She deeply regretted ever attempting to draw her own face, but she regretted it even more when Killian joined her in their quarters that night and picked up one of the discarded drawings, smoothing it out to look at it. 

“Killian don’t, that’s not--” She sighed. “I didn’t want you to look at those.”

“I apologize, darling.” He frowned with contrition, but stole another quick glance at the drawing before Milah jerked it out of his hands and ripped it up.

“Do you have any that you haven’t discarded? That you’d be willing for me to see?”

She hesitated for a moment, and then opened her sketchbook to show him the one drawing of herself she hadn’t completely hated. She’d perhaps made her hair a little more perfect and lush than it was in reality, and drawn herself looking a bit younger than she thought she looked when she regarded herself in the mirror. The vanity of that made her blush, and her fingers itched to crumple the page up like the others.

“This one is beautiful too,” Killian said, holding it up to look at it in the light. “But you look so sad, love. Is that the way you see yourself?”

Milah wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I suppose I am sad,” she said.

Worry washed over Killian’s face. “What can I do to make things better, love?”

She shook her head in frustration. “I’m not saying that… The sadness doesn’t come from a thing that’s happened that you can fix, Killian. Sadness is just… it’s a part of me.”

He dropped to his knees next to her chair. “I thought… I mean, I know you miss Bae, but I thought being with me made you happy.”

That pierced her heart. Milah shook her head quickly, taking his face in her hands. “It does! It does make me happy, I swear. I’m not talking about that kind of sadness, I’m not talking about the kind of sadness that comes from unhappy events, I’m talking about… I’m talking about the monster.”

His brow furrowed with confusion. “What monster?”

Milah winced. “It’s a thing I started imagining when I was a girl, when a voice in my head would tell me that I was useless or lazy or… you know, that inner voice that berates you?”

Killian nodded. “Aye, I know it.”

“I imagined that it was a little monster, riding around on my shoulders, its tail curled around my neck. Whispering things in my ear to justify why I deserved the beatings I got from my father. Why Rumple’s cowardice was the cause of all my unhappiness, or that I was a terrible mother who should never have brought an innocent child into the world.”

“Or that your son would be better off it you were dead.”

Milah nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“But if you know it’s that inner voice, then you know that it’s just your worst fears and doubts. You know it lies.”

“They’ve never felt like lies to me.” She let go of Killian to wipe at her tears. “It’s funny, even though I know it’s not really a monster, there was a part of me that thought I could outrun it with you. That if we traveled far enough and fast enough, to another part of the globe, that it wouldn’t be able to follow. But that was nonsense, of course.” A watery laugh grated out from her throat. “The monster is a part of me, it’s not something I can run away from.”

Killian leaned up toward her, taking her head in his hands, kissing the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t lose faith yet, my love. We’ll find a place where it can’t follow you. The wind in our sails and and the whole world in front of us. Put your faith in me and we’ll outrun that monster. Together.”

Absorbing the fierce love in his eyes, Milah could almost believe him.


End file.
